


i'd like to check you out

by saresa



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Harry has bad taste in books, Harry woos zayn using sparknotes and wikipedia, M/M, librarian zayn, zayn is not impressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saresa/pseuds/saresa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is a hot librarian. Harry suddenly forgets how to find books organized in alphabetical order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd like to check you out

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe no one has written Librarian Zayn yet.

"Hello, can you please kindly direct me to the literary masterpiece that is  _Fifty Shades of Grey_?"

Harry hates his life. He really, really does. Behind him, someone snickers then attempts to cover up their laughs by coughing. It's undoubtedly Louis laughing at his friend's pain, and Harry is undoubtedly going to kill him.

However, first, he has to send a quick prayer to the gods (yes, all of them) that the grumpy old lady who works at the front desk won’t hit him with a textbook. She’s closer to 55 than 35, which is Harry’s self-imposed limit. Thankfully, now he’s not too disappointed that she didn’t return his advances. Louis, on the other hand, is still livid that he missed the chance for more blackmail material.

Speaking of which – “Hello, is there anyone who is supposed to be working at the front desk? I need Fif–“

“I heard you the first time, mate. Jus’ hoping that I heard wrong.”

A man with soft, tousled black hair that Harry would like to run his hands through pops up from behind a cart of books. Well, fuck. It’s not the cranky old lady. Harry is going to destroy Louis. Hell, maybe even Liam will offer to help. Liam loves noble causes and all that.

Because the thing is, Harry is pretty sure he’s going to die of embarrassment. It takes a lot to embarrass Harry Styles. Streaking across the university campus (because of Louis), forgetting to wear pants to class (because of Louis), and accidentally having an affair with a married teacher (because of Louis). Louis has tried it all. Niall was almost successful with his attempt to convince Harry that leprechauns are real (long story). Almost successful. Nothing is quite enough to faze him.

Except – expect there’s some godsent creature practically posing in front of him that somehow makes Harry nervously run his fingers through his hair. All Harry can register is lanky legs, soft lips, and tattoos. His tongue pokes out of his mouth just slightly, but the sight of a sliver of pink makes Harry’s stomach churn.

In other words, he’s otherworldly, and Harry feels a little faint just from looking at those sharp cheekbones and hazel eyes. Harry would like to take the cute librarian to the movies and pay for the popcorn. (His mother raised him right after all.) Harry would also like to fuck Cheekbones And Eyelashes in the back row of the theatre after the movie.

The lad is rather little young for a librarian. Not that Harry is complaining or anything.

“You’re a little young for a librarian,” Harry says dumbly because he apparently has no filter.

“Yeah, I dunno mate,” The beautiful man scratches his stubble. Harry wonders how his face would feel with stubble rubbing against when they kiss. “S’ kinda weird, right? Feel like I’m supposed to boss people around like the librarians at uni.”

“You can boss me around whenever you like,” Harry blurts out immediately because once again, he has no filter. He’s always had a thing for authority figures. There’s a split second when Harry questions his reputation, questions what kind of impression he wants to make.

Cheekbones And Eyelashes looks a little incredulous. He’s biting his lip like he’s not sure if he heard Harry’s words correctly, but he’s also leaning in slightly. Harry is good at a lot of things – baking, cooking, singing – but he’s a fucking master at reading signals. _Fuck it_ , he finally decides.

“I’ve always had a thing for authority figures,” Harry drawls, smiling until he’s sure his dimples are on full display. Cheekbones And Eyelashes licks his lips. “I’m sure there’s a nice couch here. Or, I could wait until your shift is down. I’m not that pushy. Well actually, that’s debatable.”

The librarian jolts back suddenly like he forgot he’s actually supposed to do his job. Harry pouts. It’s unfair. He had a job for Cheekbones And Eyelashes that pays much better.

“I’m not, like, judging you mate,” the librarian tells him in what is supposed to be a reassuring voice. His eye twitches, and he rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, immediately giving away his tell that he’s lying. Harry stores away the information absentmindedly, so entranced by the Greek god before him that he’s taking everything that he can get.

Harry frowns because he’s not sure if that’s a rejection. “Sorry, what?”

“Like, the book you wanted.” Oh right, Harry was here for something else. “Don’t really approve of your taste, but s’ not my problem.”

“Oh, that,” Harry replies. He plasters a smile on his face because he’s not supposed to be disappointed. “No, my friend wanted to mess with you.”

The librarian lips turn downward, and he shifts his eyes. _Shit,_ Harry thinks, panicked. He hates it when attractive people look sad. That’s why he’s always smiling. (“That’s why you look and act like an arrogant priss,” Louis would say.)

“I mean, not you specifically,” Harry stammers. “Like, he just wanted to embarrass me and like people in general? He wouldn’t mess with you. I would like to mess with y – Shit, never mind. Please don’t be mad.”

“M’ not mad.” The little twinkle in the librarian’s eyes is back. Harry briefly wonders why he didn’t notice that little spark until it was gone. Cheekbones And Eyelashes smiles shyly. “I’ve pranked people too.”

“Oh yeah?” Okay, it’s a little sultry. A little.

“Yeah.” Some people just have infectious smiles.

“Since I have bad taste, do you have any recommendations?” It’s a pretty terrible pick-up line. It’s not even a pick up line. Still, Harry has gotten phone numbers with worse lines.

“Jus’ like books I’ve read recently or…”

“What books do you consider classics?” Harry asks. What he really means to ask is _Can you fuck me against that bookshelf right over there? We can ignore the Doctor Suess books._ “Books you can’t set down?”

“Do I – Yeah, of course. Tons,” The librarian immediately responds. His face just lights up in a way that Harry didn’t know was even possible. This lad is making Harry question everything he thought he knew. “D’ ya like, have any preferences?”

“Preferences?” _Fucking in the showers, being the little spoon, breakfast in bed…_

“Genres?”

“Oh yeah. Romance?” Harry cringes at how stupid he sounds.

“That’s easy.” Cheekbones and Eyelashes flashes a grin. He starts waving his hands around like his thoughts are too big to contain in his small body. It’s strangely endearing. “Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Henry James… Hey, hey mate. Are you listening?”

“Right.” Harry shakes himself out of a trance and stands a little straighter. He racks his brain for the first – and only – thing he can recall. “Jane…”

“Austen,” The librarian supplies. He’s too excited to notice Harry’s ineptitude or call him out for it. Not that this soft looking man would ever do that. Not that Harry would know that or anything. But the problem is – and it is a problem because Harry doesn’t like anything that can’t be solved with a smile and a kiss – Harry doesn’t really know this lad. He would like to though. Harry would like to know how if this guy’s hair is rumpled in the morning, if his eyes also crinkle when he kisses.

“Got it,” Harry finally answers. “I, uh, should probably get back to my friend now.”

“Right, I’m glad I could turn you away from atrocious literature. Um, tell me what you think of my recommendations, yeah?” The librarian smiles a little hesitantly. His eyes are shining.

“Course, see you later.”

It’s only until later when Harry’s heart feels a little heavy that he realizes he forgot to ask for a phone number or name.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, what was his name?” Louis asks as soon as Harry sets foot in the flat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Nice try, Styles. I left as soon as I realized that you were about to get nasty with that poor librarian because you’re a minx.” Harry is about to protest, but Louis cuts him off and barrels onward. “Come on, the least you could do to thank your nice friend Louis is tell him a name.”

“Are you speaking in third person, again? Didn’t Niall tell you that’s a little creepy? I agree quite frankly –“  
  
“Fucking hell, what’s his name?”

“Cheekbones And Eyelashes.”

“That’s not…” Louis doesn’t finish his thought. “Does he know your name?”

“Yes, he was moaning it. Jesus Christ, Lou. Why are you so obsessed with knowing his name?”

“Because you normally come home spouting off every single detail about your latest conquest. Every single detail.”

“So? I had a good time. Doesn’t mean I have to talk about it.”

“Like I said, every single detail. Don’t think I won’t figure out what happened with you.”

Louis is eying him suspiciously, and Harry is suddenly reminded of why Louis mostly only considers Harry as a friend. The sharp look in his eyes makes Harry want to curl up, and Harry has seen Louis at his worst.

Instead, Harry sits on Louis’ lap until he finally stops asking.

“Niall is my new best friend,” Harry declares.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Niall doesn’t pay part of your rent. He doesn’t find a ride back home just to let his best friend get laid either.”

 

* * *

 

Harry knows how Louis is. He knows that Louis is the kind of guy who sets things on fire for fun (“How many times do I have to tell you, Styles? It was an accident. If wanted to do something bad on purpose, I wouldn’t get caught!” “Really, so how do explain that time when –“ “Shut it, Horan.”) and humiliates his best mate by forcing him to imply that he likes bondage to an angel working in a library. Harry is pretty sure Louis is going to drag him to hell. So, in other words, he knows that Louis is an absolute pest.

“So, what can you tell me about Jane and Austin?” Harry asks Niall the next day. He has a notebook in his hand, and he is absolutely ready to woo the cute librarian off of his feet.

“Harry,” Niall says in a slow voice. It’s too dramatic for Harry’s liking. _He_ is supposed to be the dramatic one with the slow words. “You’re making no sense. Fuck, you make less sense than usual. It’s impressive honestly.”

“Niall,” Harry whines. “You’re on my side, remember?”

“Fine, you silly cunt. Repeat the question?”

“I met this guy.”

“Don’t you always?”

“You’re on my side, Niall. I bought you a milkshake. I bought your love.”

“You sound like an evil genius.” Niall rolls his eyes. “Okay, you met a guy. Good for you, mate. Let me guess. His eyes were dreamy –“

“He has this little fleck right next to -“

“And he mentioned Jane Austen?”

“Right,” Harry replies. He grins. But wait a minute. “Are Jane and Austin like star-crossed lovers or something? We were talking about romantic novels.”

“Jane Austen,” Niall tells him. Harry blinks, confused. Niall sighs. “Jane Austen as in the novelist Jane Austen, Harry. One person. How have you not heard of her?”

“I have heard about Jane Austen. I just haven’t read her works.”

“We had a whole unit on… Did you not read the book the professor assigned? Even I… Nevermind.”

“I’ve read Nicholas Sparks.”

“No you haven’t. You’ve just seen the movies.”

“I’m suddenly interested in reculturing myself. Please don’t mock me Niall.”

 

* * *

 

Harry starts googling as soon as he arrives back to his and Louis’ flat. He vaguely recognizes _Pride and Prejudice_ , so he decides to read that.

The book is 432 pages. Harry crosses reading the novel off of his list.

The movie is 2 hours and 15 minutes. It’s not even a romantic comedy. Harry wonders if the librarian likes romantic comedies. He wonders if he likes to hold hands at the movies or if he likes to have his date wrap their arm around him.

It’s almost midnight, so Harry decides to wrap it up and plug “romantic quotes that make cute boys blush” into the search bar.

 

* * *

 

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

Those are the first words that Harry says to the cute librarian upon returning to the front desk (not _their_ desk, Harry has to remind himself).

The librarian is wearing a white sweater today. Harry is conflicted over whether he wants to tear it off or cuddle him.

“You’re back! And yeah, I love that quote,” Cheekbones And Eyelashes (it’s starting to engrain itself into Harry’s brain) responds. His lips are unbearably pink.

“I loved your recommendations,” Harry replies. The librarian’s eyebrows furrow just as Harry is about to talk about how much he loves Jane Austen’s writing.

“I don’t remember recommending Margaret Mitchell. I don’t really consider _Gone With The Wind_ a romance. It’s more like a… sorry, you probably don’t care.”

“No, gone on.” Harry doesn’t really care about his interpretation of the novel, but something about how animated and lively the librarian is when he talks about the books he loves reminds Harry of the way he used to talk about his music. Maybe they have some common ground.

“Well, it’s probably stupid.” Cheekbones And Eyelashes bites his bottom lip nervously and absentmindedly tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his nails. Harry would like to tuck him under his arms. “You sure you want to know?”

 _He’s probably guarded most of the time,_ Harry suddenly realizes. _He’s sharing something really precious to him. He’s letting me in on a secret._

Harry loves being the secret. He loves being the one that composed men seek out after tucking their children to sleep and kissing their wives goodnight. He loves the thrill of the chase. He loves being free from attachments, free from the burden of wanting someone – _truly_ wanting them.

He hates the danger of the unknown. He hates having to shoulder someone else’s fears and desires, which are more intoxicating than the fears. (Anyone can run from fear. Not anyone can run from desire.)

He hates feeling like someone else is unraveling him. He hates not knowing what to expect, not being in control. It’s like being possessed.

Something about this beautiful man makes Harry want to settle, makes him want to spend his nights at the library instead of the club. He has the itch to run and let out all the energy running through his veins by fucking the first person who wants to dance with him.

“I’m positive,” Harry asserts before he can change his mind. “But first, you have to tell me your name. I only have serious conversations about literature with people whose names I know.” Louis would probably laugh his ass off he heard Harry say those words.

“M’ Zayn.” _Zayn_. It sounds sweet. It also sounds familiar like it’s supposed to roll off Harry’s tongue easily, like they were supposed to meet. He's not supposed to run away.

“Harry.”

“Well Harry, you have no idea what you just got into. I’m a English major, so I can go on rants…”

“No worries.” Harry grins cheekily. “I think I can handle you.”

When Zayn’s hand brushes Harry’s in the middle of a rant about how the symbolism _Gone With The Wind_ is grossly misinterpreted, Harry realizes that he is absolutely screwed. He can’t handle English majors with piercing eyes and crooked smiles at all.

 


End file.
